


i'm latching on to you

by Lios



Series: Come Away With Me [2]
Category: Doctor Who (2005), James Bond (Craig movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: (all the implied's), Friendship, Implied Slash, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, M/M, Part of "Come Away With Me" Series, can stand alone, kids to adults, little bit of swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-22
Updated: 2014-06-22
Packaged: 2018-02-05 18:43:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1828351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lios/pseuds/Lios
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At the age of eight, Q climbs into his wardrobe to conquer the monster that is making it shake. Instead he finds a time-travelling world-hopping alien.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i'm latching on to you

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from Disclosure's "Latch". Beautiful cover by Kodaline, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5I2rm9AWSVQ . 
> 
> This is the product of several of my daily commutes so it was written entirely on buses. Didn't at all go the way I expected and the OC has a much bigger part than I had planned. I gave Q a little bit of family because I always picture him with a sibling. Also, families are a great plot device because they bring drama with them. :)
> 
> Part of my series of WHO crossovers but has no relation to the first part.

The doors of the wardrobe rattle violently for exactly thirty six seconds before stopping with a not so gentle thud. Sebastian knows this because he counted from his curled up position on the bed. By leaning his small torso over the edge of the mattress, he could see the wood shake, even in the darkness and without his glasses on. When the doors did finally cease moving, he dived back into the duvet, accidentally clashing with the previously sleeping log beside him.

“OW. SEB!” she hissed, furious that he had woken her up. He quickly put a finger to his lips (even if she couldn’t see it) and _ssshed_. Now confused, she tried to sit up in their bed but he grabbed her shoulders, forcing her down before she was able to. “What are you doing, stupid?” she whispered, just about able to watch him pull the duvet over both of their heads, as if to grant them some protection or privacy.

“Ana,” he says with all the seriousness he can muster, “I think there’s a monster in our wardrobe.”

“Good. I hope he eats stupid brothers who wake me up before school time!”

“That’s not funny!”

“Well monsters aren't really real, stupid! Everyone knows that!”

“Stop calling me that! I’m not stupid, I’m brave and I’ll prove it by killing the bad creature living in our clothes.”

Brother and sister stared at each other for several seconds, still buried beneath the blankets. “You really gonna go into the wardrobe? Like Lucy and Edmund?”

He puffed out his chest and replied proudly, “Yep.”

“And you know Batman can’t save you. We don’t live in ‘Merica.”

“I can do it all on my own.”

“Ok. Bye then.”

Without another word, both children reappeared from underneath the covers, one snuggled back into her original sleeping position and the other slipping out of the bed entirely. Sebastian approached the storage device slowly and warily, even though it was only a short distance from the foot of the bed to where it stood. When at last he stood directly before it, he sucked in a great breath and reached for the handle. With a careful tug, he pulled the doors wide open. The sight that greeted him wasn't the rows and hangers of shoes and dresses and jumpers and trousers that he was used to seeing. Instead, he peered into what looked to be an engine room, like in the movies he sometimes watched on TV. With one final look back at his sister (who was once again imitating Snow White), he made his decision and climbed into the wardrobe.

He moved away from the entrance of the wardrobe and heard the doors creak slowly to a shut behind him. Ignoring the sound, he continued walking towards the large control centre stuck in the middle of the darkness. Even from where he stood he could hear it humming quietly and so he wanted to run his hands up and down the surface, to take it apart and see how it worked. He didn't get that far, however, for as soon as he stretched his arm out to touch one of the buttons, an odd looking man leaped up from nowhere and interrupted him.

“Sebastian!” he exclaimed, clasping his hands together. The boy in question spun around in a guilty manner, sheepishly looking at the man. Without his glasses, the man’s face blurred a little but he could make out a violently red bow tie. “It is _Sebastian_ these days, isn’t it?”

Receiving a nodded reply, the strange man jumped from his spot and knocked a lever on the dashboard. The room instantly filled with light, giving Sebastian a chance to look around. His eyes didn’t get to trail very far before the man began to talk again, immediately gaining his attention.

“ _Fantastic_. So glad to catch you, you being one of those eternally busy people after all, which is honestly very unhealthy you know but completely beside the point that brought me here. I need you to take a look at my baby – she’s making the most awful rattling sound whenever I start her up and now that is unhealthy. Also very irritating. Anyways, if you could take a quick-”

The man stopped in the middle of his sentence and his hands ceased flying in every direction, instead moving up to rake through his own hair. He looked at Sebastian, staring at his bare toys and travelling to the last hairs on his head, taking in everything including his gobsmacked expression.

“Are those _dinosaurs_ on your _pyjamas_?”

Feeling the eyes on him, Sebastian’s arms flew across himself to try and hide the little coloured figures. Considering the fact that the creatures adorned every inch of the clothes, his arms were not long enough to provide adequate protection. His face reddened but the man spoke again.

“You’re a little smaller than I remember. Did you shrink?”

Unable to summon any words, Sebastian shook his head. The man’s face contorted in confusion. “But there’s no other logical solution except – ah. Ah! How old did you say you were?”

Unable to answer this question with a simple gesture, Sebastian finally opened his mouth and answered with “ _eight_ ”. The man stared at him in silence, his turn to look sheepish.

“Ah.” He says again, twiddling with the bow tie around his neck. “It appears I got my times confused. I don’t suppose you know anything about engines yet, do you?”

Sebastian stumbles out of the wardrobe twelve minutes (hours) later with a grin on his face. He hops into their bed and pulls the sheets up over his head. The mattress trembles when he giggles. He continues laughing, even after he’s shoved out of the bed and onto the floor.

* * *

 

Sebastian is a smart child. He’s seen enough movies to know what will happen if he tries to tell the world about _The Doctor_. So he doesn’t. He wraps the words he’s dying to spill in a neat little box and places that onto one of the highest shelves in his brain, almost too high to reach. The box falls off the shelf once as a result of much poking and prodding from Ana but she doesn’t really count anyway. They are twins for a reason after all.

He sketches a picture for her of the engine room which is little more than some circles and a few lines. Across the top of the page he writes TARDIS in careful and steady block letters. She bends her head over the page to look closely at it and traces the letters with a thumb. He watches with practised patience, knowing that the shapes get jumbled up in her head. When she gives up and announces that she cannot read it, he reads it off the page and spells it out loud for further confirmation.

“It means Time And Ready Dimension In Space!” he proudly exclaims, adding a stick man wearing a bowtie to the masterpiece. “And that’s The Doctor!”

She believes him, of course. She has to (it’s in the rules).

No one seems to notice that they spend the rest of their childhoods taking turns at playing aliens from far off planets.

* * *

 

Later on, Ana would tell people that they were twelve years old when it all crumbled to shit. It’s as fine as any way to put it. They stand side by side at the front of the room watching the long queue of solemn men and tearful ladies. Between the shaking of many hands, she complains that her feet are tired. He fidgets with the one hand that remains behind his back. _“Tragic”_ they murmur in passing, leaning forward to give the occasional (unnecessary) kiss on the cheek. “ _You poor darlings_.”

It takes three days for the siblings to understand just what it all means. There’s no milk left in the fridge and the bread smells wrong. They haven’t seen their mother since they left the church. It’s obvious that she’s in her room but they’re too afraid to knock on what’s left of the door.

“Seb?” Ana asks that night, staring up at the ceiling. They had moved into separate rooms in their new house two years ago but recently the pink one has held two children instead of one. “Do you think Mum will die too?”

“Probably. Billy Connors’s mum died in a car crash last month.”

She’s quiet for a few moments before asking, “What’re we gonna do?”

It takes precisely three minutes for the call to be answered. The Adult Supervision watches, bouncing on the balls of his feet as they throw some provisions into one of Ana’s bags, not being at all helpful. When the bag is bursting and on her back, he takes each of them by the hand and squeezes gently. “Let’s go on an adventure.”

* * *

 

Years after, Sebastian would sit in a cold and empty cell and not have anyone to call. General knowledge told him that by law he was in fact entitled to a phone call. Common sense warned him that laws probably didn’t exist here.

They want to know all kinds of things including the why and how. They already know the who and the when – their own intel gatherers aren’t that poor. They aren’t at all gentle, even though by technicality he is still a child (juvenile). Sebastian expected no different, really. Terrorist countermeasures have always been harsh.

A man in an impeccable black suit slaps him across the jaw so hard that his eyes begin to water. Sebastian doesn’t give him the satisfaction of responding to any of his questions. He has simply accepted his fate and had done from the moment he turned on the computer.

 _“S finds dangerous situations enchanting and views himself as one who thrives in trouble and under pressure.”_ His therapist had written in the file he had pinched at fifteen. _“Tragic family circumstances; loss of father, mother imprisoned, neglect (?)”_ It had been hard for her to decide which of her twin subjects was the most self-destructive. Ana had argued for the title and he had handed it over without much debate. Sebastian may have skimmed money from thousands of accounts and hacked government secrets, but he wasn’t stupid enough to live off cloudy solutions in needles.

He’s lost count of the days when the door opens and salvation walks into the small space. He sits, back supported against the wall because he’s hungry and he has not slept since the night before he came here. A middle aged man in a suit (missing the jacket) hunkers down in front of him and smiles, skin crinkling at the corners of his eyes.

“Hello. Sebastian. My name is Geoffrey Boothroyd and I have a preposition for you.”

* * *

 

He’s been living and working with old Boothroyd for a year and three months when he wakes up to a familiar scraping noise outside his window. He throws a jumper on backwards and pulls on a pair of trousers. He doesn’t stop long enough to tie the laces of his shoes. On his way downstairs, he bumps into his confused and sleepy guardian who silently follows him outside. In the tiny backyard (which is really only four grey walls that enclose some neglected potted plants) stands a blue box which seems to have materialised from thin air.

Sebastian rocks to a stop in front of the wooden doors, waiting for them to open. Boothroyd, unable to contain his disbelief, circles the structure, pressing his hands against the panels. His mouth opens and closes comically and he jumps back when the doors are flung open and out steps his ward’s childhood. It’s been years so Sebastian hugs him in an uncharacteristic show of affection. The Doctor pulls away a little but gently grasps his face in one hand and his thumbs stroke bags beneath the younger set of eyes. “My dear friend, Seb. How are you?”

Days of anger and fear melt away into a small smile. “Better.”

Sebastian’s not quite sure what he’s searching for in his eyes but after a few minutes, the Doctor seems satisfied and stops staring so intently into them. He flings an arm around his narrow shoulders, forgetting to even acknowledge the inventor who stands only a few feet away, gaping at them.

“I’m afraid this isn’t a social visit though really some scones (the cute ones with the jam and the cream on their little tops) would be _fantastic_ right now. You see, I found something belonging to you a while back and I’ve been _meaning_ to return her but you see there was this problem with these tiny little robots – not that you need to know any of that. Anyway everything was fine for a while but I really  really think you should take her back now. I’m really not a very good babysitter. You’d think I would be, with all that experience with kids but you know what? I’m not so if you could take her that would be really great. I’m beginning to think that even the _TARDIS_ is starting to hate the fact that we are, um, harbouring your property.”

He wonders if he is a terrible person for wishing that the Doctor had thrown his sister down a well on some far off planet rather than bring her back to him. When she throws her arms around his neck, swaying on unsteady legs and giggling, he looks into her eyes and sees pin-point pupils. His heart sinks.

* * *

 

Ana marks off the days on a calendar (the third of its kind, the others burned after relapses). In the kitchen, a whiteboard hangs from a wall clearly displaying the proud message, “I’VE BEEN CLEAN FOR 197 DAYS”. And counting.

Boothroyd goes to work and takes Sebastian with him. They work long days but when they come home, they sit up at night around the dinner table, leafing through the scripts of modern plays. When a prospect arises, Boothroyd teaches Ana to ballroom dance on the worn out kitchen tiles which are in dire need of a wash. Sebastian watches from the doorway how the Waltz disintegrates into an improvised routine to _Girls Just Wanna Have Fun_. He makes his attempt to flee too late and is unwillingly drawn into the action.

The prospect turns into a job and when they ask what name she wants to see in the cast pamphlet, she tells them with a smile, “Ana Geoffrey”.

* * *

 

“ _Please_ tell me you aren’t taking fashion advice from a time-travelling world-hopping alien again. Oh dear lord, you are, aren’t you? There is actually no hope left for you. Officially the most lost of all causes.”

* * *

 

Boothroyd lives and works and dies. Security protocols prevent Ana from attending the public and political funeral. He finds her when the rush has calmed a little, sitting by the freshly dug dirt and singing Lauper and Houston songs until her throat hurts.

Shortly after he officially becomes Q, they sit together on the floor of a dimension-hopping box, feet swinging over the streets of London. The Doctor can be heard fiddling with knobs and buttons behind them. “You don’t _really_ expect us to call you _that_ , Seb, do you?”

* * *

 

Q’s been around the universe and met all kinds of species. He meets the most infuriating being in this solar system while seated in front of a painting in the National Gallery. Bond loses M and turns up on Q’s sofa. Q allows it because he’s too tired to argue with a lean mean expert-killing machine. On the second night, Ana drops in and stands with him in the living room, watching Bond sleep.

“He’s really very pretty. You should keep him.” She ducks the arm that comes flying her way.

* * *

 

On the fourth night, Ana sits at Q’s rarely used island at three a.m. eating slices of ham and cheese straight from their packets. The sofa man stumbles in, missing shoes and clothing on his upper half. He plops down on the stool across from her, using one hand to wipe sleep from his eyes and the other to catch the food packet she shoves at him.

“Hello, Mr Secret Agent Man,” she says after swallowing a mouthful of red cheddar. His eyebrows lift in a way she considers to be interested, flirty and potentially deadly.

“Hi.” His reply is very much to her disappointment. She was looking for a more guns blazing, life threatened introduction, not a measly _hi_.

They sit in silence for a few minutes, eating. Ana watches him openly, not really caring what opinion he develops of her. She sighs when the ham runs out, drumming her fingers against the smooth dining surface. He holds out the cheese as a peace offering and after wrinkling her nose she takes it.

“My name’s James actually. Can’t really have my name being _Secret Agent Man_. That would give the game away.”

“Oh, I know. But that’s pretty boring, isn’t it? Half the population’s called James.”

“I’m sorry it upsets you.”

“I suppose I’ll just have to deal with it, won’t I?”

“I guess. Do you have a name and reason for being up at this hour?”

“Yes and yes. Do you?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re not going to tell me?”

“I asked first.”

“True. My name is Ana. _Adr_ iana, actually, but the only person that has ever called me that passed me out her vagina.”

“I…see.”

“Sure ya do. As to why I’m up, I don’t deal very well with sleep after a show. Adrenaline won’t stop flowing.”

“Show?”

“West End.”

“Ah. Actress?”

“Among other things.”

That leads to the singing that ends with a sleep deprived Q descending on the apartment’s kitchen yelling “ _NOW REALLY!!!_ ”

* * *

 

Bond falls off Q’s radar and off every accessible one on the planet. After six days of rejected phone calls and sporadic _“I’m fine”_ text messages, Ana sends for the one person she knows that can descend to the burrows of MI6 and retrieve her brother.

The Doctor ambles through the Quartermaster’s division with an easy gait and a smile on his face. He walks with such confidence that no one pauses to stop him, though a few do send curious looks. He heads straight for the office and doesn’t bother to knock, knowing he won’t be heard either way.

Q falls asleep after one peaceful revolution of the moon. He only stays that way for three and a bit hours but while dropping him home, the Doctor supposes that it’s better than nothing.

* * *

 

She takes one look at him, sitting in the exact same place he had been the first (and last) time they met, months ago. He tilts the bottle of vodka he’s drinking from in her direction, offering. She declines with a nod to the kitchen wall where the whiteboard hangs, today reading _“I’VE BEEN CLEAN FOR 4,132 DAYS!”_ His eyes flicker towards it even though she’s sure he already knows what it says.

“Off the beer wagon then?”

“More the heroin wagon actually but we thought it would be best if I kicked all possible vices at once. Well, when I say at once, I mean the three years it really took me to stop using.”

Bond nods but takes another swig of the spirit. Ana watches him with a frown.

“He’s going to kill you. Four months is an awfully long time to disappear for.”

“It was only three and a half.”

“Felt a lot longer on this end.”

Bond shoves the stool backwards and stood up, moving to leave the kitchen. Ana follows him to the couch, arms folding across her chest.

“Yeah, I noticed. Next time it happens can you ask them not to sell my apartment?”

She rolls her eyes as he nestles himself into the cushions, using the throw-over she’d bought last year as a blanket. “You’re not even going to tell him you’re here? Just, what? Wait for him to stumble across you in the morning?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“You’re an idiot, Bond-o. I was hoping you’d be a little cleverer than Q in this department, but obviously you’re just as dense. I expected more from you agent-types. Rumour has it you’ll shag anything that moves. Not that I particularly want to think about that area of Q’s life but honestly. What is taking you so long? I’m fed up of him being miserable and I mean, come on, he’s not _that bad_ on the eyes.”

“Are, are you trying to convince me to have an affair with your boyfriend?”

Ana blinks at him a few times. “My _what_?”

Bond is the epitome of calm when he replies, “Your boyfriend.”

“ _ **Q**_?”

“Is there anyone else in this flat right now?”

“You think….what the hell is wrong with you? Dear God I worry for the state of British Intelligence if you are one of their top spies. _Dearest Q_ is  not my boyfriend as that is wrong on so many levels, not to mention completely illegal here and in many other countries. How could you even pick that up?? Do we give off some kind of vibe?! Ew. He is my brother and I would very much rather you kept the twincest fantasies to the internet, thank you. You know what? I am going to go home and wash my brain in bleach ‘cause that was a very very wrong thing for you to say.”

“You’re his….sister.”

“Yes, his _twin_. People say we even look alike but everyone knows I’m truly the better looking one.”

“And you don’t live here?”

“With Q? God no. I only drop in to make sure he’s still alive, a job I am unfortunately the one to be saddled with. It’s the true downside of sharing DNA with him. I suppose I shall see you some other time, Bond, if you’re still alive when he’s through with you. Not that I really want to see you again because, just, _yuck_.”

* * *

 

Bond does live (just about). 

* * *

 

The first time James Bond meets _The Doctor_ is the first time The Doctor meets Q.

Q sits on a collapsible plastic chair, watching his watch tick away his wasted minutes as Bond’s forearm is stitched back together. Q chooses to glare at him angrily when the nurse leaves to finalise some paperwork, telling them to wait patiently for a few minutes. Bond grins easily back, not at all sorry for the slight delay post-mission.

“You once flew back from Argentina with a bullet in that arm,” says Q, through gritted teeth. “You couldn’t have spared us this by waiting the two hours back to Medical?”

Bond’s face is pure innocence. “I was losing blood, Q.”

“It’s a scratch!”

“There was a risk of infection.”

“Are you deliberately trying to annoy me?”

“I would do no such thing.”

The beginnings of an argument are interrupted by the return of the nurse, who, recognising the tension, awkwardly asks Bond to sign some forms. He fidgets with his ID card as the patient and his self-proclaimed colleague snipe at each other. When the paperwork is completed, he leads both out to the main hospital door, worried that if he didn’t, alone they’d cause some mischief along the way.

Two hours and thirty seven minutes later, Bond is wearing a grin that belongs to a maniac. He looks far too happy for someone drenched in the gore of a dead alien. 

* * *

 

It isn’t until they’re standing in the middle of a street in Victorian London being shoved and groped by the throngs of rushing people that he looks Q dead in the eye and says, “D’you think we could get back to Ancient Rome? Always fancied myself a gladiator.” 

* * *

 

“You have a lot of explaining to do!”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Ana, WHY IS THERE MISTLETOE IN MY FLAT?” “It’s Christmas and it’s a perfectly appropriate seasonal decoration. What are you so mad about? OH MY GOD, DID IT WORK??”

“Q? Q?”

* * *

 

Ana sat on the ground, legs folded beneath her. Between her fingers she twirled a large daisy, picking the petals off it without really thinking. She didn’t move when she heard the footsteps beside her, nor when the Doctor sunk onto his knees and put an arm around her shoulder. She continued staring at the flower, not willing to look up at the memorial plaque in front of her. She felt a handkerchief brush her cheeks as the Doctor did his best to mop up some of her escaping tears.

“It’s a good thing, I suppose. My brother wouldn’t have wanted to live without him and I’m not sure Bond could have lived without Sebastian. It must have been quick and they were together. That’s good, isn’t it? There’s mercy in that, in dying with who you love.”

She turned her head to look at his face, one she had only met twice before. He was crying too. “There weren’t any real remains. I kinda blanked out what the doctors were saying about the science part of that. But ‘cause there’s no bodies, I like to think that they’re not dead at all. They’ll be pulling Bond’s old trick, lying on a beach somewhere sunning themselves and getting drunk. I wouldn’t even care if I ever seen them again, as long as they were safe and happy and together. I’d sell my soul for that.”

“The universe is an incredible place, so wide and diverse. I’ve seen so much of it that the more I see, the more I’m convinced that I know nothing about it. Somewhere, I’m sure your wish is a reality and they’re bickering about dirty socks or something equally as important.”

Ana snorted and shoved her shoulder into the alien playfully. “You’ll find them again, won’t you? If they really are out there?” “

For you, darling, I’ll do my best.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading :)


End file.
